


Mycroft's Bad Day

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awesome Molly Hooper, F/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Feels, post-tab, pre-Mollcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my version of what happened just after TAB to Mycroft. Poor guy, he really has been having a bad day hasn't he? Luckily he finds some unexpected support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Best Laid Plans

As he watched the car containing his brother, John and Mary drive off Mycroft let his head drop, closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"Sir," he hadn't noticed Anthea joining him in the small plane; she was standing right behind him. "There's a slight problem."

His head rolled towards her now so heavy he felt barely able to lift it; sad eyes opened and asked the question 'What now?'

"She is refusing to go with the security team."

Fury hit Mycroft like a lightning bolt and he roughly pushed past Anthea taking the plane steps two at a time, his long legs propelling him towards his waiting car so quickly Anthea had to jog to catch up. 

All the while he was shouting expletives at the top of his voice to no one in particular. 

//

Molly was sitting in her office, enjoying the quiet, filling out various bits of paperwork—the sort that never seem to get done. With the security team loitering outside her office no one could get in to bother her. It was quiet in the morgue anyway; only the scheduled autopsies. Seemed like everyone was preoccupied with the message from James Moriarty and what it meant-- except for her. She could care less.

The door to her office unceremoniously burst open and Mycroft appeared in the doorway. He was incandescent with rage and his presence made the small office shrink further.

His mouth opened to speak but no words came out as he gestured to the door. 

"I am fully aware this is not the plan. I know I am not meant to be here," answered Molly nervously.

"Get out of here now!" Mycroft hissed in a sinister whisper.

"And do what? I've been thinking-- this is ridiculous. I can't run forever. What if he--"

"No. No. No talking—MOVE!" Mycroft's shout coupled with the fury in his eyes caused Molly to give a little scream and jump out of her chair as Mycroft began to circle around her desk.

"We have a plan. We have had a plan since the moment my brother leapt off this building years ago. Why are you not following the plan?" Mycroft had backed Molly into a corner his large frame surrounding her blocking the view of anything but him.

Molly was about to fight back, shout in his face, stand her ground but looking into Mycroft's eyes behind the anger she saw absolute terror. Instinctively her hand slipped onto his wrist finding flesh between his glove and cuff. He pulled his hand roughly away.

"In the car," his voice was jagged with adrenaline. 

Gulping hard, her eyes flicked nervously around her office as she nodded, "Yep, ah yea. Let's go." grabbing her coat and purse she dropped her head and briskly left her office, followed closely by Mycroft and the security team, to his waiting car.

//

Mycroft was slumped in the back of his car. One gloved hand massaging his temples; his eyes closed. The other hand was resting on the seat between them. Tentatively Molly once again moved her fingers to the flesh between his glove and cuff. This time Mycroft allowed his pulse to be taken.

"Oh Mycroft," whispered Molly softly. "What's happened to you?"

"Since I woke up this morning I have said my goodbyes and seen my beloved brother off on a suicide mission insisted on by the powers that be. A criminal mastermind has reappeared from the dead. Then my dear little brother, with his usual flair for dramatics, decides to almost OD in front of his nearest and dearest. Following this, I have been required to get "pig-headed-target-number-one" to safety myself because SHE has decided in her infinite wisdom that the plan created for her protection years ago doesn’t suit her today. To top it off I have just been summoned by authorities greater than myself to answer why the cold-blooded killer, also known as Sherlock, is now back out on the streets of London at my behest when he should be halfway to his final destination by now. How's your day going my dear?" his tone was dripping with venom and sarcasm. 

"And the only reason you have not passed out due to the panic attic you are having is sheer stubbornness on your part," answered Molly dryly as she dug deeply in her bag. Mycroft was now watching her from beneath his gloved hand.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't remember," mumbled Mycroft.

"Did you have your usual three cups of coffee before 10am?"

"Four."

"I keep telling you-- you need to take better care of yourself," Molly said with an exasperated tone. She had found a small foil pack and was now balancing it on her knee. Taking one of the water bottles from the seat pocket in front of her she opened the bottle and handed to it Mycroft. He took a sip and handed it back. After taking two tablets out of the pack and dropping them into the water she closed the cap and shook the bottle turning the water neon orange almost instantly. 

"Drink this," she handed the bottle to Mycroft who did as he was told and felt better almost instantly.

The two sat in an uncomfortable silence until the car stopped outside an unremarkable house.

"Let me refresh your memory," there was irritation in Mycroft's voice, "This is your safe house. You are to wait here until Sherlock contacts you. I'm sure he will need you. Whatever happens, you will be perfectly safe here until the current matter has received appropriate closure."

"What time is your meeting about Sherlock?"

"Forty-five minutes," replied Mycroft flatly. "Thank for Molly," he waggled the nearly empty bottle, "Now if you wouldn't mind. I must be on my way."

"No." replied Molly calmly lacing her fingers around her knee. "The plan needs to change."

"Why?" Mycroft asked through gritted teeth. 

"Because today Mycroft you need me more than your brother does," Molly answered quietly.

Closing his eyes Mycroft took a deep breath; small groan of frustration escaped. He felt Molly's small hand on the back of his large gloved hand. Opening his eyes, the compassion and concern in Molly’s eyes made a lump appear in Mycroft's throat. "Let's go." she whispered. 

"Walter. To Whitehall please," stated Mycroft quietly to his driver as he moved his hand away from Molly’s. As the car set off again Mycroft tugged at each finger of his gloves deliberately as he pulled them off. Reaching across the car he took Molly's hand and laced their fingers together. 

Her thumb absentmindedly stroked his for the rest of the journey.


	2. Thank You For Everything

Molly sat nervously in one of the chairs facing Mycroft's desk

Over the years Molly had been in Mycroft's Whitehall Office a number of times, generally driven over in his car after a work shift had ended.

Once the few moments of small talk, between her and the elder Holmes had finished, she would be told of Sherlock's most recent dalliance with his addiction. On two occasions she had been handed an address where Sherlock was discreetly recovering— should she wish to contact him. Molly had tucked the address into her coat pocket and visibly relaxed knowing that for the next few weeks her life would be blissfully devoid of childish antics and ridiculous requests.

By the end of Sherlock's 'holidays' as Mycroft euphemistically described them, Molly would begin to feel pangs of loneliness, but never at the beginning. 

The morning after John's wedding Molly had appeared at Mycroft's office unbidden. She had seen the look of surprise in his eyes before he could hide it as he gestured to her usual seat and offered her a cup of tea or perhaps a pastry— after all it was nearly 11am on a Sunday morning. 

Nervously wringing her hands Molly had declined both. As soon as Mycroft settled himself back into his chair and looked across the desk at her the flood gates opened. Molly, on the verge of tears throughout and very nearly not stopping to take a breath, recounted in one long stream of words everything that had happened the night before, including Sherlock walking out of the reception into the night. 

Throughout her story Mycroft had a commiserating look on his face. He didn't have the heart to tell her he already knew all but the minutiae of what had transpired the previous evening. 

"Not to worry my dear. I did anticipate John's wedding disturbing Sherlock’s delicate equilibrium. Don't fret. He is being watched very closely at the moment. All will be well." Mycroft gave Molly a small reassuring smile and pushed his chair back assuming her visit was over.

"But it won't be." A sob escaped from Molly; tears begin to flow in earnest.

Instinctively Mycroft walked around the desk, took a neatly folded handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Molly. Pulling up the legs of his trousers he sat himself on the edge of his desk in front of her.

"I can't stand him," sobbed Molly.

"Sherlock can be very diff--"

"Not him," wailed Molly.

Taking a deep breath Mycroft stared hard at Molly. There were traces of hairspray and makeup still remaining from last night; she had come to him as soon as she had woken up. She had no signs of a hangover; she didn't have a particularly jovial time at the wedding. The bags around her eyes indicated she hadn't slept very well last night; something was troubling her. Her engagement ring sat haphazardly on her finger and was on upside down; it had been forgotten then put on carelessly in a rush to cover up its absence. 

"Tom," stated Mycroft quietly as he crossed his arms in front of him and looked down his nose at her.

Nodding her head Molly cried harder.

Mycroft moved his hands to either side of him gripping the desk edge. "Molly," he began gently, "I am sure you appreciate that while I am happy to lend a sympathetic ear, when it comes to the complexity of relationships I lack the necessary experience to provide anything that could be considered helpful advice."

"I— I— I know," answered Molly haltingly on the verge of hyperventilating. "It's just— he's—, he's— so boring," Molly was finally able to blurt out.

"Ah," proclaimed Mycroft.

"You thought you had found your—," with a small smirk on his face Mycroft looked slightly sideways at Molly, "accountant in shining armour."

Looking up with tears in her eyes Molly nodded yes.

"Instead you have found what others consider normal— his pedestrian Marks and Spencer wardrobe, football obsession, and mild curry on jacket potatoes every Thursday— actually makes bile raise in the back of your throat.” 

"Tuesday is jacket potato night. Thursdays we go to the pub," replied Molly quietly while a shy smile appeared and the tears began to slow. 

A look of horror appeared on Mycroft's face at the mention of the word pub. With a groan for effect Mycroft dropped his head into his hands, "Good lord how did you let this happen to yourself?!"

"I don't know. I thought— I hoped—," Molly sighed.

"You wanted to be normal," said Mycroft now looking at Molly empathy. "From what little I know of you Molly Hooper, Princess of the Morgue, don't try for normal. It doesn't suit you."

Blushing at his use of her nickname Molly took a deep breath. "Thanks Mycroft. I guess I just needed someone to tell me what I already know. I don't want to hurt his feelings. I just— I just can't anymore.” Taking a deep breath Molly stood up while tucking the tear soaked hankie into her bag. “I'll wash this and give it to you the next time I see you." 

"No rush," Mycroft stood and walked Molly to his office door. "My advice, if you see an opportunity-- take it. Good day my dear."

//

Thirty-six hours later Tom rushed over to Molly's flat with news of his promotion. She sat in stunned silence as he told her how unprecedented the offer was. Rarely did someone so junior get moved to the head office in Manchester. 

With tears in her eyes (Molly had quickly conjured up images of the last child autopsy she had done) she apologetically handed Tom back his ring. As much as she would love to go with him, she couldn’t possibly leave her life here in London. 

Molly begged him to go quickly. It would be easier that way, she said through the tears. No. She didn’t want a final kiss. (No acting necessary for that part.) He should just go.

As the door closed behind him a wave a relief washed over Molly and she felt like a weight she had been carrying around for months had been lifted off her shoulders.

After tossing the wedding planning journal in the bin and removing Tom’s parents from her address book, she pulled out her phone. 

Mycroft answered on the first ring.

"Molly."

"Tom just told me he got a great promotion to the head office in Manchester. I'm not going."

"Congratulations to both of you. Sorry to be abrupt but I must—"

"Just one more thing Mycroft."

"Yes?"

"Thank you," this was almost a whisper.

"You are most welcome, my dear."

//

Molly was startled by the office door opening and Mycroft returning. A sullen Anthea followed him into his office and stood by his side, eyes on the floor, no Blackberry in sight. Quickly Molly glanced between the pair and the clock near the door.

"Fifteen minutes. You've only been gone fifteen minutes," Molly gulped as the severity of the situation sunk in. "I was expecting you to be gone hours. How could a new plan have been drawn up so fast?"

"There is no plan," answered Mycroft flatly. "Only news."

The silence in the room was deafening. Unconsciously Molly held her breath.

Finally, and with much effort Mycroft spoke. "As of exactly 1300 hours today I no longer hold a position in Her Majesty’s Government. I have been suspended while my situation is being reviewed. It is felt I have allowed personal interests to cloud my judgement," Mycroft swallowed hard and swayed slightly. 

"Ohmygod," responded a stunned Molly. 

"So if you will be so kind as to follow Anthea, she will find you a place to wait while I finish up a few matters this afternoon," Mycroft was looking at the floor not at Molly.

Again, none of the three moved, Finally Molly responded with a strong “No.” Her jaw firmly set.

Clenching his fists Mycroft closed his eyes and uttered thru gritted teeth, "Please Molly. Don't start."

"Mycroft, listen to me. Do as they say," taking a deep breath Molly continued her voice was measured and calm. "You know they are watching us right now; listening to every word. The longer you stay the worse it will be; for both you and Sherlock. Gather your things. Please," she added quietly with a slight crack in her voice. 

Looking at Anthea Mycroft watched his PA take a shuddering breath before replying quietly, "You know she is right sir." 

Closing his eyes for a moment Mycroft gave a dejected nod.

With a defeated sigh he removed his pass from his pocket and laid it on the corner of his desk. He then unclipped the thumb drive and passcode toggle from his key chain tossing them onto his desk next to his pass.

Walking with deliberate steps to behind his desk Mycroft pulled the chair away and opened each drawer slowly. He removed a battered, overstuffed Filofax, silver letter opener and two pens. Molly put these items into her bag. From his washroom Mycroft retrieved his spare toilet kit and suit carrier.

After one last look around his office Mycroft took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and looked directly at Anthea. There were tears in her eyes.

"Thank you for everything Anthea. Do keep an eye on things until my return."

"Of course sir." Her words were barely audible.

Mycroft remained still, unable to move from where he stood. Willing herself to be brave because Mycroft needed her to be Molly walked past the pair and opened the door. “Come on Mycroft. Let’s get you home.” She forced a smile and tried to sound as positive as possible. “I trust Mycroft will be allowed one more trip in his car?” she asked Anthea.

“I will sign it off myself if necessary,” replied Anthea solidly.

Dipping his head Mycroft was on autopilot as he followed Molly through familiar corridors to the pavement outside where his car was waiting.


	3. To New Beginings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!WARNING!!!! MAJOR ANGST AHEAD FROM THE BEGINNING -- SLIGHT SPOILER -- I do like my tags -- notice I have NOT added any significant warnings to this chapter. Keep reading until the end .... Trust me!
> 
> I am sure I will find some errors after I post which will be fixed in the next day or so-- always happens. Sorry.

After Sherlock jumped off Bart's Mycroft had insisted Molly keep a bag packed— ready so she could flee to safety at a moment’s notice. Rolling her eyes at his over-the-top preparedness plan she had complied rather than put up a fight during those first few days when emotions were high and nerves raw. 

Months passed and the bag, sitting on top of her armoire in the spare room, was refreshed at regular intervals — whenever the reminder from Anthea came.

Arriving at Mycroft’s house Molly found her emergency bag waiting for her in the hall and the severity of the situation began to sink in. 

Mycroft froze when he saw that the door to his study was slightly open, a clear indication that the files he had been working on last night as well as his work laptop has already been removed. 

Taking a deep breath Molly scrambled to come up with some way to comfort the shattered man who stood next to her. 

"Why don't you go take a shower? That always makes me feel better when I've had a bad day," offered Molly with a pained smile. 

"I am a grown man and it is the middle of the afternoon," grumbled Mycroft. 

"Just go. I'll go find you something to eat. Come down when you are finished."

Mycroft trudged up the stairs slowly.

She waited until she heard the click of his bedroom door behind him before she moved further into the house. 

Forty-five minutes later Mycroft appeared in the kitchen. As she put a plate of cheese and biscuits in front of him Molly noticed Mycroft's eyes were red as if he had been crying. 

"I am not hungry." Despite the weariness in his voice Mycroft's Ice Man mask had returned. “I have made a decision Molly,” he began sternly. “Tonight you will be taken to another safe house. As for me — I am powerless and I am not willing to stay here helpless, watching my brother self-destruct.”

Molly gulped hard. She had seen that exact look in Sherlock's eyes the night he asked her to-- "No," whispered Molly with tears welling in her eyes.

“It’s for his own good. Perhaps I have done him a disservice by my over-protectiveness. He has come to rely on me— and now I can’t—“ Emotion cracked Mycroft’s voice causing him to stop mid-sentence. 

"Without you— Sherlock— Please Mycroft, don't," begged Molly tears now streaming down her face. 

Taking a deep breath and clenching his fists trying to get his emotions back in check Mycroft fled the kitchen briskly walking through his house to take refuge in his study. 

Molly followed him, her breath catching in her throat when she saw Mycroft's suitcase sitting in the hall next to hers. 

Following him into his study Molly began to beg, “Please. You can't do this."

"Don’t you understand? This is the ONLY thing I can do," Mycroft hissed, tears threatening. 

"Sherlock won’t be able to — he can’t—“

“He has John,” Mycroft responded simply. “Now, I will only be in the way.”

Taking a deep breath Molly used the back of her hand to wipe the tears off her face as she took a deep breath. “I’m coming with you,” she said halting her sobs.

The words hung I the air between the two of them. For a few long moments the only sound in his study was the ticking of the mantle clock.

“Molly. You do not know what you are saying,” replied Mycroft softly his voice filled with shock. Looking at the woman standing in front of him all he could do was shake his head.

Sniffing and wiping away more tears Molly stood her ground, “I most certainly do Mycroft Holmes. With you gone he will be consumed by his madness— he will take me with him— I can’t— I just can’t—“

Closing his eyes and dropping his head Mycroft rubbed his forehead with his hand trying to see the future; all permutations that could possibly lay before Molly if she didn’t come with him. The outlook was indeed bleak. Sherlock would certainly cling to her like a drowning man and she was right, she would most likely be pulled under, despite her best efforts. 

Molly watched as Mycroft drew a long breath and raised his head, his steel-blue eyes met hers and held her gaze for what seemed an age. Slowly a more serene look on appeared on his face. His decision had been made. He was not going to fight her. 

“We haven’t much time,” he answered quietly. “I will advise Anthea to bring over a second set of documents.” 

Nodding Molly left Mycroft's study silently and returned with cups of fresh tea and a plate of chocolate digestives.

Mycroft had just finished his third biscuit when the pair heard the front door open and two sets of footsteps approaching Mycroft’s study.

The door opened and Anthea entered carrying a black bankers box followed by a gentleman who greeted Mycroft warmly. 

"Ah. Edward, thank you for coming at such short notice,” the two men smiled at each other while shaking hands. “Molly, this is an old colleague of mine. As time is of the essence he has agreed to help us with the necessary documents this afternoon." Edward smiled politely at Molly then he and Anthea began organizing the paperwork on the table near the window.

Soon Molly and Mycroft were each sitting in front of a stack of papers, pen in hand and signing as directed by either Anthea or Edward.

Sign, flip the paper. Sign, flip the paper. Molly lost track how many times she had signed her name.

Finally there was one sheet left. 

Taking a deep breath Edward looked Molly. "If the statement is current, please answer ‘I Do.’ Molly Hooper. Do you agree that you have made all decisions here today under your own volition and that no one either in this room or elsewhere has threatened, made any promises or in any other way influenced said decisions?”

"I do." Molly responded.

While she was signing on the line as indicated she completely missed the knowing look that passed between the other three in the room.

Turning his full attention to Mycroft, Edward once again explained. “As with Molly, if this statement is correct please answer ‘I do.’ Mycroft Holmes, Do you agree that you have made all decisions here today under your own volition and that no one either in this room or elsewhere has threatened, made any promises or in any other way influenced said decisions?”

Mycroft paused and looked at Molly before taking a deep breath and responding with a very clear, "I do," before he too signed the document. Anthea witnessed both of their signatures and then Edward signed the document before slipping it into his beaten-up leather satchel.

Standing up Edward shook both their hands. "I wish you both the best. It was lovely to meet you Molly. I hope our paths cross again. Sorry to dash but I have another meeting. Mycroft if you could see me out."

With the study door closed behind them Edward and Mycroft were near the front door when Edward turned to face Mycroft. "Take care dear boy. I do hope you know what you are doing."

"She can't be left here. Sherlock will destroy her."

"I am fully aware of my other godson’s failings. But did you really need this?" Edward patted his briefcase.

"While we are away, she is my responsibly." 

"And when are you planning on telling her?" Edward was looking down his nose at Mycroft.

"She may never need to know. It is for her own good— nothing more. When I return her safe and sound the document gets destroyed and nobody is the wiser,” Mycroft replied confidently.

"Despite what anyone might say to you Mycroft Holmes, you are a good man." With that Edward opened his arms and wrapped his godson in a big hug. The men kissed each other's cheeks farewell. "I'll ring your parents tonight. Just to put their minds at ease. Violet’s birthday is next month— I don’t give a monkey’s where you are— do not forget!" Edward waggled a finger back at Mycroft as he walked through the open door. 

Standing in the doorway Mycroft waved his godfather off waiting until his car could no longer be seen. 

Walking briskly back to his study Mycroft paused with his hand on the handle and took a look around his house soaking up the feeling of his home one last time. After a moment he turned the handle and pushed open the door, "Molly. It's time to go. Don't forget your coat. It's beginning to rain."

//

Sherlock, John and Mary were standing in the middle of 221B staring at the wall behind the couch. Over the last few hours they all had been adding bits and pieces to it creating a web of information. A knock at the door startled them out of their thoughts.

"Open," shouted Sherlock not moving from his place in the middle of the room.

Greg opened the door slowly and took a tentative step into the room. He was soaked and where he stood his coat was making a puddle on the floor.

"Get on with it Gavin," snarled Sherlock. "Bit busy at the moment."

"Um. Sherlock I-- John you had best get Mary a chair," Greg said quietly.

"Don't worry Greg. Just pregnant. Not ill. Sitting too much today has done my back in," Mary smiled at Greg while rubbing her baby bump.

"As before Gavin, unless it is important get out," responded Sherlock flatly.

"Yea, yea. it is important Sherlock," Greg swallowed hard followed by a deep breath.

It was John that twigged first. "Greg? What’s happened?" he asked nervously. 

"Accident. Car accident," were the only words Greg could get out before he had to stop to compose himself again.

"Who?" John asked quietly as his heart began to pound.

"Mycroft." The word was barely audible.

Mary's hands flew to her face. "Oh god! I do need that chair." She stumbled towards the table pulling out the nearest chair and sitting heavily down.

"Typical Mycroft. Just when I was making progress. Where?" huffed Sherlock.

"A40. Poor visibility due to the rain. Petrol tanker misjudged its length when changing lanes," Greg replied gently cognisant that penny had not dropped yet for Sherlock.

"Hillingdon Hospital then. I am sure he will have managed to extend visiting hours. His Majesty will be expecting an audience this evening despite its inconvenience," groused Sherlock. 

Mary had started to gently weep and John was rubbing one of her shoulders. "Sherlock," John pursed his lips together, closed his eyes and began as gently as he could "Police don't come over when people who have been in car accidents still have visiting hours."

Sherlock just shook his head in confusion at John. “What?”

"Sherlock," John tried again realising he need to be blunt "Greg is trying to tell you your brother has been in a fatal car accident tonight."

"Ridiculous. He's in his office working on getting me a pardon. Lazy bastard hasn't even texted to tell me it has come through." Sherlock looked over at Greg hoping for confirmation but all Greg could do was shake his head.

"John," Greg was still rooted to the spot obviously struggling with something else, "Molly was in the car as well," he blurted out. 

Unable to stand any longer Greg took a seat on the sofa, put his head into his hands and burst into tears. Mary also sobbing moved to the seat next to Greg and put her arms around him.

John, tears streaming down his face turned to Sherlock who had remained standing in the middle of the room. He watched as all the colour drained from his friends face. Sherlock began whispering: “Mycroft … Molly …Mycroft … Molly … Mycroft …Molly,” softly to himself. Slowly he turned and lumbered down the hall to his room still muttering their names as his bedroom door closed behind him. 

//

"There has been a slight delay in take-off due to the weather. Top-up?" A First Class cabin airline steward with a smile plastered on his face was leaning a bottle of champagne toward Mycroft and Molly. They both offered up the small glass flutes and watched as they were filled. With a wink the steward moved on to the next pair of First Class passengers. 

Taking another sip Molly looked out the small Plexiglas window next to her. "The weather has turned really bad hasn't it?"

"Quite," replied Mycroft frowning while shifting his long left leg so he could retrieve his phone from his trouser pocket. 

Reading the message on the small screen he closed his eyes and let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. 

"It's done," he said simply passing the phone to Molly. 

SMS: Just delivered the news. I was great! Good luck you two. Send me a postcard! Greg x 

Molly gave a small snort as she handed Mycroft back his phone. She turned back towards the window savoring her final views of London.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. We apologise for the delay. Good news, we have manged to get departure slot moved up. Cabin crew could you please take your seats. Thank you."

The steward reappeared and began quickly working his way through the cabin collecting the glasses. 

Mycroft tilted his glass to Molly. "To new beginnings," he said. Clinking her glass with his she repeated,"To new beginnings." The pair then downed the remaining liquid in one gulp and handed the empty glasses to the steward.

Holding Molly’s gaze Mycroft had a slight smile on his face when she took his hand and laced their fingers together. The pair then closed their eyes and sat back in their seats as the plane began its race down the runway for take-off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This really isn't the end is it? It is just the beginning. 
> 
> As an idea this just fell out of my head onto the page -- EXACTLY when I didn't have any time to write it -- but I have. I now have to give some other fics and bits of my life attention. I'll be back -- I can't keep them on the tarmac forever -- just not sure when at the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Sorry, just had to get this out of my head so I can write other things that I need to write. Enjoy.


End file.
